I joined LEAP because of the people I knew who’d done it. They were different after—calmer, more present. I wanted whatever they had. So last weekend, I showed up to my first intensive thinking I was ready. I wasn’t even close.

For those unfamiliar, LEAP—the Leadership Excellence Achievement Program by innov8—isn’t your typical corporate training. Think of it as building “metabolic armor” for your mind. It’s about developing the inner strength to handle real-world challenges while staying true to who you are. The program pushes you to make a decision—and I mean that in the original sense of the word, which means cutting off other options. You decide to be the best version of yourself, not someday, but every single day.

We started with grounding—something from aikido. Just standing there, breathing, finding your center, and testing balance. Sounds simple, right? But my mind is always somewhere else: planning, worrying, replaying conversations. That exercise forced me to actually be where I was. It felt like finally exhaling after holding my breath for months.

Then came this mantra: high energy plus focus equals success. I rolled my eyes at first—it sounded like something off a motivational poster. But then I watched it work. When we half-assed things, we failed. When we actually showed up with energy and paid attention, things clicked.

Here’s what got me: the difference between a decision and a choice. Decisions are from the mind. They come from your head, from logic, from what’s worked before. Choices are scarier. They come from your heart, often illogical and with no past experience to rely on. And here’s the thing—every choice has consequences. You pick, and you live with what happens. Good or bad. No take-backs.

I realized I’ve been clinging to control my whole life because I’m terrified of messing up. But that weekend, I started choosing anyway. And when things didn’t go perfectly? I stopped treating it like failure. It was just information. Letting go of that need to control everything—I can’t explain how much lighter I felt.

The hardest part was facing my own resistance. I kept pushing back against my coach. I’m used to being the one with the answers. Having someone guide me irritated me. I resisted until I finally asked myself what I was so afraid of. The answer wasn’t pretty: I was scared of being seen. Scared someone would catch a glimpse of the mess behind the professional front.

Once I admitted that, something shifted. I stopped fighting. I trusted the process. And the walls I’d built started coming down.

There was a team exercise where we had to physically lift each other. Once we stopped pretending to be fine, we figured it out together. That’s when I understood—teams only work when people feel safe enough to say, “I need help.” Even leaders—especially leaders.

The second day, we did something called Living Loud and an Essence Presentation. You stand up and share who you really are. Not your résumé. Not your titles. You.

I watched people go before me, my stomach in knots. When it was my turn, my brain screamed all the usual things: you’re too much. But I got up anyway. I admitted that I measure my worth by how productive I am—and how exhausting that is.

My voice shook, but I kept going. And instead of judgment, I saw people nodding. Some had tears in their eyes. Being that exposed and still accepted—I don’t have words for how that felt. Like taking off armor I forgot I was wearing.

At the end, we each had to declare a truth we’d carry forward. Mine amazed me when it came out: I am my own home.

For so long, I looked for home in achievements. In being busy. In other people’s approval. But home was never out there. It was in me the whole time. Wherever I go, I carry what I need—steadiness, safety, love. I can be strong and still be soft.

I left that weekend different. Not because I learned some secret formula, but because I finally stopped running from myself. I made peace with parts of me I’d been avoiding for years.

Now, when I feel lost, I remember: I am my own home. And that’s enough.